Comatose
by Shooshkipoo
Summary: Challenge from sammygirl11963: Dean is 18, Sam is 14. Involves a wrecked Impala and an unconscious Sammy. After Sam falls deathly ill on a hunt, Dean tries to get him to a hospital; only to be stopped along the way
1. Chapter 1

Sam tried to wipe his nose discretely. Truth was, he didn't feel very good, but he wasn't about to tell his dad that. Winchesters didn't slow down for a cold, no; Winchesters were tough and did the job no matter what. Sam could handle a simple cold, no problem. The pounding in his head made it a little more difficult to deal with, but Sam could deal with that too.

"You ok squirt?" asked Dean from the driver's seat.

"M'fine." Sam mumbled, staring out the window. Dean wasn't convinced, but pushing the issue wouldn't do much good. Sam appeared to be in one of his broody-teenager moods, that was enough to make Dean drop the topic and pop in his favourite Metallica tape.

The truck ahead pulled over to the side of the dirt road and stopped. John and Bobby got out. Dean turned the Impala to the side and pulled up behind John. Sam gave a cough that didn't sound the least bit healthy, causing Dean to look down at his brother in concern. When he noticed Dean looking, Sam adopted the air of being focused on the hunt.

"Ok boys, here's the plan," said John, sounding like his drill sergeant self. "We're dealing with a crucota." Bobby gave a nod of understanding, while Sam and Dean looked blank. A trifle irritated that his boys didn't see the importance of this statement, John continued,

"A crucota is a lycanthrope that got infected by a ghoul, so it's a werewolf-ghoul hybrid. Their saliva contains some sort of anesthetic that will make your entire body go numb. That's when they eat you alive." Sam shuddered involuntarily.

"How do you kill it?" asked Dean, his concern for Sam growing.

"Iron; it disintegrates their skin, essentially." Dean winced at the image. Bobby rummaged through the truck's backseat and pulled out a couple of shotguns, a knife and what looked like a fire poker.

"Pure iron." He said as an explanation, handing the poker to Sam who took it looking determined. Dean took the knife.

"Bobby and I will search the deep part of the forest for the beast's cave. You and Sam search the forest areas closer to civilization; stop anyone else from getting hurt. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." Both brothers said, nodding, though the movement made Sam's head throb. John headed off into the woods without another word, but Bobby made a gesture of farewell before following suit.

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The sun had set hours ago, the temperature dropping. Sam gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering. He knew that if Dean noticed how sick he was actually getting, he'd want to take him home and his Dad would call him weak. Sam already felt like a big enough disappointment; he wasn't about to make it worse by bailing on a hunt just because he felt a little feverish.

Dean was worried about his baby brother. He was making valiant attempts to appear healthy, but they were falling pitifully flat. He knew why his brother was putting on the show; he wanted to impress their father by sticking it out. Sometimes Dean wanted to knock some sense into his dad; Sam was only fourteen for crying out loud. Dean personally thought Sam handled himself well on hunts, all things considering. John pushed his youngest way too hard, and Dean knew that one day, Sam was going to snap. A twig cracked a little ways away and Dean instantly tensed up.

"Sammy," he hissed quietly, "get behind me." Sam apparently hadn't heard the noise, but obeyed his brother.

Dean surveyed the dark woods with a growing feeling of apprehension, the noises were becoming more frequent, but he still couldn't pinpoint the location of the crucota. He heard a snarl from behind him. The body resembled a human's, but the head was that of a wolf. It's rat-like tail thrashing in anticipation. The creature took a step forward, its yellow eyes glowing eerily in the dark. The moon glinted off the dripping fangs. Without warning, it darted forward and leapt, closing the gap between it and the brothers. It landed with a crash, growling and tossing its head. Dean pulled out his knife, trying to find an entrance. The crucota noticed, the sight of the weapon enraging it. It stalked forward, saliva dripping from its jaws as it eyed Dean hungrily.

It happened so quickly, Dean wasn't exactly sure what had happened. He saw Sam edge his way towards the monster and slash at it bravely with the fire poker. The crucota whipped its head with a fierce snarl, catching Sam's arm in its jaws. Sam cried out in pain and fear as he felt the saliva enter his body. Already, his arm had started to go numb, and the venom continued to spread. Without thinking, Dean ran forward, ducked under the crucota's arm as it tried to fend him off. Rage fueling him, Dean plunged the knife into the crucota's chest. It howled in agony, dropping Sam like a ragdoll as the iron sizzled its flesh. Dean rushed to Sammy's side, after being dropped; Sam had curled into fetal position, unmoving.

"Sam? Sammy? You still with me there, kiddo?" He turned his brother on his side; Sam's eyes were half open, and he mumbled something in an attempt to respond.

"Don't worry Sammy, I've got ya." Dean was about to lift him up when a forceful growl reminded him that they weren't safe yet.

Dean bent into a protective crouch in front of Sam, holding the fire poker. Green eyes locked on yellow, both gaze equally fierce. A gunshot rang through the trees, as John and Bobby rushed on to the scene. The crucota pinned its ears back, but turned tail and ran.

"Get your brother to a hospital, now!" John shouted as he and Bobby ran past. Nodding wordlessly, Dean scooped his little brother up into his arms and headed towards the Impala, torn between wanting to get there as fast as possible and wanting to be careful in case Sammy had any broken bones.

After what felt like an eternity, Dean saw his beloved car up ahead.

"Almost there Sammy, just hang on." Sam groaned and pushed his head into Dean's chest in response. Dean bit his lip, there was sheen of sweat on Sam's forehead and the bite mark on his arm was still sluggishly bleeding.

Opening the door was a little tricky, as Dean was reluctant to let go of Sam, even for a minute. When he finally managed it, he placed Sam gently on the backseat, trying to make him as comfortable as possible. He put his hand on Sam's forehead.

_Shit,_ Dean cursed inwardly; Sam's temperature was through the roof. Dean sat down and turned the key, sending the Impala tearing down the long empty road. To make matters worse, a fog was beginning to settle in.

He had only been driving for a few minutes when he heard Sam groan from the backseat.

"You ok back there, Sammy?"  
"Dean?" Sam opened one bleary hazel eye, trying to figure out where he was. "M'sorry…" Dean almost slammed the brakes in annoyance; of course the kid would feel bad about getting hurt and 'screwing things up'. Once again, Dean wanted to give his Dad a good punch. Eyes darting between Sam and the road, Dean snapped irritably,

"You have nothing to be sorry for Sammy, got it?" Sam began to protest, but Dean didn't give him the chance, "The crucota beat you up enough without you adding to it." Through the fog, Sam thought he saw movement in the trees.

The fog was now so thick that Dean could barely see anything more than three feet ahead. He saw a giant shape leap into the road in front of him. The headlights illuminated the snarling face of the crucota only seconds before it sprang forward. Dean swerved, trying to avoid a collision, but because of the fog, he couldn't see the steep hill off the side of the road. The car slid down the hill, the growling animal clinging to the front. There was a crash and a jolt of impact as the Impala smashed into a tree, shattering the windshield and causing who knows how much damage.

Dazed and furious, Dean wrenched the door open, grabbing the fire poker. The car had done a wonderful job of pinning the crucota to the tree. A ruthless gleam in his eye, Dean stabbed the creature in the heart, again and again beyond after it had already died. Satisfied, Dean turned back towards the car and tore open the back door. Sam was unmoving, bleeding from the head.

"Sammy?" Dean lifted his baby brother into his arms, putting a hand on his face. "Sammy? You still with me there? Sam!" Sam was unresponsive; it was almost like he was…

_No._ Dean shook his head in denial, and was shocked when a wave of agony came over him. Placing a hand to his own face, he found that is was wet. He took his hand away too see that there was indeed very red blood there. Now that he was aware of his injury, the pain swelled to agony

_No, I can't be injured this bad, I need to help Sammy…_ Dean weakly pulled out his cell and dialed 911.

_Briiiiing_ Someone had to pick up.

_Briiiiing_ Someone had to find them soon.

_Briiiiing _If nobody found them, Sammy was going to-

"Hello?" a voice answered. Dean was overwhelmed with relief, he opened his mouth to begin speaking, but the wave of blackness overtook him before he could make a sound.

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The light was blinding. Dean opened a bleary green eye and took in his surroundings. White bed, beeping machinery, nasty small of antiseptic; oh, he was in a hospital. Dean closed his eyes and sank back onto his pillows in momentary relief. Seconds later, his eyes snapped open and he jerked upright, bringing another wave of agony. Dean swayed, head in his hands, eyes clenched shut.

"Mr. Styles?" Dean opened one eye just wide enough to see that a nurse had entered the room. She looked to be in her forties, and had a very motherly appearance, her light brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Her blue eyes were regarding Dean in genuine concern, not the condescending looks that Dean was used to. He gave a grunt of acknowledgement.

The nurse smiled and walked over to the bed, checking the IV hooked up to Dean's arm and talking soothingly all the while. Dean noted that her name tag read the name Carrie.

"Where's m'brother?" A funny look passed over Carrie's face.

"He's alive, Honey; he's only a few doors down from here." Dean looked far from reassured by her choice of words.

"I need to see him." Dean attempted to get up, but Carrie pushed him firmly back down.

"You need to rest right now," she said sternly, "Tell you what, if you behave and actually sleep for two hours, then I'll take you to your brother." Dean glared, knowing he didn't really have a choice in the matter.

"Fine," he grumbled, sounding like a petulant child but accepting the pills that Nurse Carrie offered him. Their effect was almost instantaneous; Dean slumped back against his pillows, all tension gone from his body.

Dean's sleep was anything but peaceful; he kept reliving the crash. The crucota's growls, Sam's mumbled apology, Dean's frantic concern. Even now, he had no idea of the condition Sammy was in. He felt a hand gently take his shoulder and a soft voice say,

"Mr. Styles, your two hours are up. You can see your brother now." At those words, Dean forced himself awake. He allowed Carrie to help him into a wheelchair. As she wheeled him down the hallway, Carrie told him kindly,

"I'm letting you see him because I promised, but I'm warning you; you might not like what you see." Dean inhaled in fear, less reassured then ever.

Carrie had been right; Dean didn't like what he saw one bit. Sam was perfectly still, eyes closed, the only signs of life being the gentle rising and falling of his chest and the beeping of the machine.

"Sammy?" He looked up at Nurse Carrie, "What's wrong with him?" She looked very resigned and Dean feared the worst.

"When we found him, he was unconscious and had already lost a lot of blood, from what we could tell. We had to stitch up several cuts, including the one on his head. Chances of a concussion are high." Dean nodded; this he could deal with; both boys had had concussions before. But Carrie wasn't finished.

"After the operations, we found that there was some strange toxin in his blood. That, in combination with the drugs we needed to use for the stitching reacted badly." Dean stared, wide-eyed.

"Reacted badly…" Dean repeated dangerously. Carrie looked grim.

"It put him in a coma, Mr. Styles. He might not ever wake up."


	2. Chapter 2

"_After the operations, we found that there was some strange toxin in his blood. That, in combination with the drugs we needed to use for the stitching reacted badly." Dean stared, wide-eyed._

"_Reacted badly…" Dean repeated dangerously. Carrie looked grim._

"_It put him in a coma, Mr. Styles. He might not ever wake up."_

"You're not serious." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Carrie shook her head sadly.

"I wish I was." She helped Dean into the chair beside Sam's bed.

"I'll leave you alone now." She said gently, placing a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean barely registered her touch, the roaring in his ears drowning her out.

"Oh God, Sammy…" Dean wanted desperately to reach out and hold his baby brother's hand, but he couldn't bring himself to move. The sight of his brother, looking so fragile and still was breaking his heart.

"I uh, don't do this a lot Sammy, but I'm sorry man. I'm so friggen sorry, I never should have let you go on that hunt when you were already sick." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and continued, trying valiantly to keep his voice steady.

"Ever since Mom died, it's been my job to look after you, be there for you when Dad isn't. And I can't even do that. The doctors don't think you'll pull through, and I have no idea where the hell Dad and Bobby are." The worry and frustration Dean had been feeling ever since he had woken up finally set in.

"No matter how hard I try, shit like this keeps happening to you, Sammy."

His voice cracked and a single tear fell from his eye. Brushing it away impatiently, he continued,

"You have to wake up Sam, you just have to. If you don't…" Dean trailed off. "I really don't know what I'd do." A few more tears fell, but this time, Dean didn't try to wipe them away.

"I know I don't tell you enough, but I'm proud of you. I really am, I look at you, and I know that one day you're going to be an even better hunter than I am." He gave a fond smile; he had never said that out loud before, though he'd known it for a while. The smile faded when he realized that Sam probably hadn't heard a single word. He reached over and grasped Sam's still hand with his trembling one.

"I mean it Sammy, you're tougher than this. All you have to do is wake up. That's all." He squeezed Sam's hand and bowed his head, gritting his teeth as a couple more tears leaked from his green eyes.

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Leaping expertly out of the way, John evaded the crucota's snapping jaws. It dropped to all fours, growling angrily. Bringing his training as a marine in to play, he shielded himself with his arms and rolled underneath the animal. He heard Bobby shout, goading the creature to distract it. Seizing his opportunity, John pulled a knife out of his belt and stabbed the crucota in the heart. It reared back, screaming with rage. It dropped back down, now inches from John's face. There was a bang, and the creature reared backwards again, but this time, it didn't rise. Bobby rushed to John's side and offered him his hand. John took it gratefully. The crucota seemed to have just a little bit of life in it, so Bobby proceeded to unload another couple shots into it. John wrenched his knife from the animal's chest, breathing heavily.

As they walked back to the truck, John took out his cell and dialed Dean's number. It went to Dean's answering machine.

"That's weird," John murmured, pocketing his phone and getting into the driver's seat of the truck. Bobby didn't say anything as John pulled into the road. They drove in silence until something caught Bobby's eye. It looked the remains of a car. It hadn't been there when they had set off for this hunt. That car looked awful familiar…

"Pull over!" Bobby bellowed, wrenching his seatbelt off. John looked bewildered, before recognizing the cause of Bobby's concern. John felt the blood drain from his face.

"Sam! Dean!" Both men ran as fast as they could to the car, the inside was empty, albeit covered in blood and broken glass. Pinned to a tree by the car, slumped over, obviously dead, was the crucota's mate. That hardly mattered now, all John cared about at the moment was finding out where his boys were.

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Dean snorted when he heard a gentle voice call his name. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes absent-mindedly. Apparently he had fallen asleep holding Sammy's hand. He gave Sam a hopeful glance; no difference.

"Umm Mr. Styles?" Carrie stood in the doorway, clutching a clipboard and looking mildly pensive.

"Call me Dean." He mumbled, still half asleep.

"Ok Dean, there are two men downstairs. They claim to be your father and uncle, but they can't prove it because both of their wallets got stolen. They said you would know them though." That got Dean's attention. He nodded, standing. Dean winced; apparently his leg wasn't back in action quite yet. Nurse Carrie, motherly smile in place, brought him his wheelchair.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, as the elevator went down. Dean opened his mouth, all set to say 'Fine', but then figure he was just too tired to keep his macho guy act up. Besides, he liked Nurse Carrie; normally he resented being treated like a child, but Carrie didn't bother him. It was almost like having a mother again.

"Not so good. It'll be better if these guys are who they say they are though." Carrie smiled,

"I really am doing everything I can to help your brother." Dean returned the smile, small but genuine.

"Yeah I know you are." The elevator dinged and opened, revealing thankfully, John and Bobby.

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"What do you mean, Sam's in a coma?" John raged, upon seeing the state of his youngest. The happiness that had flared inside Dean died the instant John inquired about Sam. This was not going to go over well.

"It was the crucota Dad," said Dean quietly, aware of the number of people around. "It jumped into the road in front of us. The fog was too thick, I couldn't see it…" Dean stopped, knowing how pitiful he must sound, making excuses for himself. John's dark eyes narrowed,

"And why was he hurt so bad anyway? I thought I told you to look after him!" After eighteen years, Dean finally snapped.

"I tried Dad! Sammy was sick before we went on the hunt. Wanna know why he went? Because he didn't want to disappoint you! Maybe this wouldn't have happened if you acted more like a father to him once in a while!" Dean stood defiantly before his father, who glared just as furiously back.

"I'm trying to prepare him! You baby him; you still let him sleep in your bed just because he had a damned nightmare. The kid needs to grow up, and learn to fend for himself!"

"He's fourteen Dad! He's a better hunter then I was at his age, and he doesn't know it because you never praise him for anything he does. I don't think you even know how cruel you are to him!"

"Cruel would be to let him grow up in ignorance and let him get shredded to pieces by something he could have easily defended himself against. If you had let me teach the boy how to become a half decent hunter, he wouldn't be here!"

"Shut up both of you!" John turned his gaze to Bobby,

"Mind your own damned business, Singer." Bobby stepped forward so he was inches from John's face,

"You listen to me, Winchester. These boys are as good as my sons, and if you don't pull your head out of your ass and lay off them, I'm going to unload a buckshot into your smug face."

"Get out of here, Singer."

"Try and make me." John glared at Bobby, who steadfastly met his gaze. Someone was going to snap, the beeping in the background increasing as though it meant to heighten the tension.

"Sammy?" Dean cried out in surprise and fear. Sam, whose face had been perfectly calm before, was now twisting in obvious distress. His head twitched from side to side, the creases in his forehead deepening. The machine beeped in distress as Sam's heart rate continued to increase.

"Stop fighting!" Dean ordered, placing a hand on Sam's cheek. "Can you hear me Sam? It's me, Dean. Shhh, I need you to relax ok? I'm not going anywhere." The beeping of the machine steadily decreased as Dean spoke. Sam visibly relaxed, leaning into Dean's touch and exhaling deeply. John and Bobby watched the exchange silently.

"You still gonna try and tell me that their bond is a bad thing?" John glared.

"This still doesn't concern you. And I still want you out of here." Bobby narrowed his eyes.

"I meant what I said, Winchester: if I ever hear of you blaming them for anything like this again, you're going to have to answer to me. Those boys deserve better than the likes of you." Bobby's tone and expression were both downright threatening; there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he didn't mean every single word. He turned to look at Dean, who was still cradling Sam's cheek gently.

"You gonna be ok boy?" he asked, his expression softening. Dean smiled, feeling a rush of affection for Bobby. He nodded. Bobby walked to Sam's side, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and gave Dean a small smile before turning and walking away, not sparing John a single glance.

The silence was unbearably awkward, Dean wouldn't so much as look at his father; his eyes were only for Sammy. John sighed, and looking back at his boys, it was like seeing them for the first time. Dean was now gently stroking Sam's hair and murmuring to him gently. Sam's forehead was smooth, and a hint of a smile played on his lips. They just looked so _peaceful_. Most hunters never seemed to have a moment of peace, and his boys had that whenever they were together. Part of John wanted to just step back and let them stay this way, but he knew he couldn't; as hard as Dean would try, there was just no way he could always be there to protect Sammy. Sooner or later, Sammy was going to have to learn to defend himself.

"Dean," John stepped forward hesitantly. Dean looked up reluctantly, his expression cool.

"Yes sir?" he asked, almost sarcastically.

"Could you give me a minute with Sammy?"

"Why? So you can lecture him on being stupid enough to get injured in the first place?" John tried not to visibly cringe; no longer in a worried rage, he was now feeling incredibly guilty. That was really how his boys saw him? John knew that the only logical thing to do in this situation would be to apologize for acting like such a prick, but old habits die hard; he couldn't force the words out of his mouth.

"Dean?" Both men turned to see the pretty Nurse Carrie in the door. "I let you stay in here all day, it's time to get back to your room and rest some more, ok?"

"When can I come back?" Carrie smiled and John was reminded forcefully of Mary.

"In the morning; as soon as you finish your breakfast, I'll bring you straight in here." Dean was about to say something, but Carrie continued,

"If anything about Sam's condition changes during the night, I will come wake you up." Dean nodded grudgingly, allowing the Nurse to help him hobble back to his room. She offered John a gentle smile before telling him that he had little over ten minutes before visiting hours ended. John nodded, still speechless. Had Dean just allowed this woman to _help him walk?_ He never thought Dean would allow it. _But,_ John thought bitterly,_ maybe I should be focusing less on Dean's pride issues and more on my own. _He sat down in Dean's now vacated chair and rubbed his temple wearily.

"I really screwed up, didn't I Sammy?" Sam made no response. "I know I push you to train, and I know I'm harsh about it. But don't you understand Sammy? I can't let you grow up without being able to take care of yourself." The image of his normally macho son, watching over his baby brother with an almost tender look on his face flashed through John's mind. "Dean, he'd do anything for you. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up dying trying to protect you. But you can't let it come to that, ok? You have to be able to handle yourself so he can focus on his own safety. Can you do that for me, tiger?" John kissed his son's forehead and walked away, unable to say anything else.

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The hospital was fairly quiet, considering. Dean could feel himself drifting off to sleep. He had been so complacent, and he must have looked so utterly exhausted that Carrie didn't think he needed any sleeping medication this time. He rubbed his forehead with the hand that wasn't hooked up the IV. He heard frantic voices and footsteps in the hall.

They rushed past his room, shouting instructions. _Please don't be Sammy, please don't be Sammy._ Seconds later, Carrie was beside him.

"Your brother," she said worriedly, "Something's happened; we need to take him into surgery." Dean blanched.

"Clear!" Sam's body arched as the shock coursed through him.

"His heart rate is still decreasing; we're going to lose him!" Dean stood in the doorway, watching helplessly as the doctor's rushed around, desperately trying to revive his baby brother.

"Clear!" Sam's body bucked again. Dean shook his head, trying to clear the image from his mind. Sam was going to be fine, he told himself. Sam was going to be-

"No pulse!"

"No, Sammy! SAMMY!"

**TBC**

AN: Hey! Thank you to everyone who reviewed and favourited! I hope you enjoyed this chapter; I'll try and get the next one up as soon as possible. Remember, constructive is always appreciated 

-Shooshkipoo


	3. Chapter 3

Sam's body bucked once more as the pads were pushed against his chest. Dean held his breath, awaiting the doctor's next words. The beeping of the machine brought Dean back to reality.

"We have a pulse!" Dean slumped against the doorframe, barely stopping himself from giving a sob of relief. He clamped his eyes shut, breathing heavily. _Sammy was still alive._ He felt Carrie's gentle hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to look at her.

Dean looked awful. His skin was pallid and the shadows under his eyes were more pronounced than ever. One look and Carrie knew that Dean would flat out refuse to go back to his own room. Carrie's maternal nature won out once again and Dean found himself in a chair beside Sam's bed. He looked up questioningly, Carrie smiled sadly.

"If you're with him, maybe you'll get something similar to rest." Dean gave a weak smile; it was all he could muster in his worn state. Carrie draped a blanket over his shoulders, gave him a sympathetic pat and walked out. Just as he had before, Dean reached out and held his little brother's hand, rubbing his thumb against Sam's.

"If you ever scare me like that again, I'm gonna kick your ass got it?" Dean could have sworn he saw a flicker of emotion pass over Sam's stoic face.

"Bitch." Dean's voice was barely more than a whisper as his head drooped forward and he fell into another exhausted slumber.

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The sun streamed through the windows, illuminating the room. But it wasn't the sunlight that had woken up Dean. It had been the tiniest, most wonderful sound he'd ever heard in his life.

"D'n?" Dean stirred in his sleep, before slowly opening his eyes. Sam was looking at him through two bleary hazel eyes that were barely more than slits.

"Sammy?" asked Dean in a breathy voice, hardly daring to believe it. Sam gave a tiny fraction of a nod.

"Wha've I mssd?" _Typical Sam…_

"The crucota found us and I crashed the Impala. I thought for sure you were dead, there was so much blood…" Dean mentally shook himself; Sam needed to know the basics and nothing else.

"Then I woke up here and they told me you were in a coma. They said you might not wake up, but I told them that you would." Sam scrutinized Dean; he believed the facts of the story, but the bravado thing Dean had going on? Sam wasn't buying any of it; the last two days just couldn't have been as easy as Dean was trying to convince him.

Dean fidgeted under Sam's gaze. He should have known that Sam wouldn't be fooled, but Dean wasn't really sure who he was trying to convince anymore. So Dean continued, still fidgety.

"Everything's fine, the crucotas are dead, and Dad and Bobby are ok." Sam continued to stare Dean down; that part he doubted for some reason. Dean cracked.

"Ok, Dad and Bobby had a fight and Dad told Bobby to leave, but they're physically ok."

"'ws bout me wsn it?" Dean met Sam's gaze, incredulous.

"Sam," he asked slowly, "could you hear us?" The memory of the fight came back, the yelling and angry words, the sudden look of distress on Sammy's face, it all made sense now. Sam nodded slowly, the hazy memory of hearing Dad and Dean fighting returning to him. He remembered focusing on Dean's voice, talking to him gently, calming him down.

"Sam, forget about everything Dad said. He was worried and stressed and we both know how he deals with that sort of thing." Sam's eyes widened as he remembered another time Dean's voice had stood out among all the others.

"Wht hppnd lst nght?" asked Sam, "I hrd you cllng me." Dean's mouth dropped open; he had forgotten that he had literally screamed Sammy's name when the doctors had said that there was no pulse. Sam had really heard that?

"You had a sudden reaction to something. You nearly died Sammy, for a couple seconds I thought you had…" Dean trailed off, suddenly aware of the extent of his caring and sharing.

"I dint know whr you were," said Sam, the memory becoming clearer, "I couldn't hear your voice anymore. It scared me." Sam finished, looking abashed. Dean just gaped, from what he could tell, Sam had gotten scared that Dean was gone and panicked, almost killing him. Sam really did depend on him, maybe too much, but for the moment, Dean didn't care; Sam was alive, speaking to him and apparently not the least bit angry with him.

"For the record kid, I'm not going anywhere, so quit worrying." Sam smiled, closing his eyes and leaning back into his pillows.

"Jerk."

"Bitch"

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John arrived at the hospital at around ten o clock. Dean had grudgingly called him about an hour and a half after Sammy had actually woken up, but John didn't need to know that. When he walked into Sam's room, he saw that Sam was smiling and awake, listening to Dean rant about how while Sam had napped, Dean had been stuck watching the most disturbing thing he'd ever encountered: the Discovery Channel.

"Seriously, it was a documentary on hotdogs! I can never eat hot dogs again!" Sam's smile faded slightly when he saw his father.

Pretending that this didn't break his heart, John entered the room and sat down beside Sam's bed, opposite Dean. Dean didn't look particularly at ease anymore either; he gave no obvious signs of anger or disrespect but the tension was still there.

"Feeling better, tiger?" Sam nodded shyly,

"Yeah," he said thickly, tiredness and the tubes in his nose making it difficult to speak "the doctors want to talk to you and Dean, but they said I can go home in a day or two if everything goes right." John smiled in genuine happiness; it looked like his Sammy was going to be fine after all.

John ruffled his youngest son's hair affectionately before heading out to meet with Sam's doctor. Dean, without waiting for an invitation, also stood up and followed his father.

They walked down the hall in silence; John knowing that he ought to apologize to his son for his angry accusations, and Dean knowing if the doctor mentioned Sam's attack the night before, John was going to be even more angry at Dean for not telling him. Dean really didn't care at the moment, to be honest. He had been the one keeping vigil at Sam's bedside for days, not John. He had been the one terrified that he was going to lose his little brother while his father had been in blissful ignorance of that particular incident. He had deserved to know about Sam's condition first, although he doubted John would see it that way.

"Tell me , did your son have any previous medical problems before this?" The doctor, a thin reedy looking man with a comb over and large glasses peered at them from behind his desk.

"He gets really bad migraines every now and then." Dean answered before his father could. The doctor nodded,

"You must be careful of that; his coma was induced by a mixture of a toxin and heavy painkillers. If anything like that happens again, he might not be as lucky next time."

"So what do you suggest?" asked John coolly. The doctor regarded him before answering,

"Let him relax for at least three days or so after we release him, give his body time to build its immune system back up. And when he has his migraines use painkillers as a last resort. If possible, take him somewhere dark and keep a cool cloth on his forehead until it passes. If you must use painkillers, use the absolute minimum dosage necessary." Dean and John both nodded in understanding.

"Thank you, Doctor." They said at the exact same time. They turned to leave before the doctor added,

"I know we said he could leave soon, tomorrow possibly, but would you like us to notify you if we figure out the cause of his attack?" John froze, his hand hovering above the door handle while Dean cursed inwardly.

"His what?" John asked in his most dangerous voice

"The attack he had last night," replied the doctor, looking confused. "Didn't anyone tell you? Something caused your son's nervous system to overload and he had some sort of attack. We almost lost him."

"Yes," said John calmly, "that would be appreciated. Thank you again."

The minute the door closed behind them, John turned on Dean.

"Mind explaining why my son almost died and you didn't think to tell me?"

"I didn't see why it mattered." Dean shot back, just as angrily. "You weren't there when it happened Dad, I was." Their gazes locked, neither man willing to cave. "Sam's alive, Dad, can't you just be grateful for that instead of finding another reason to be angry?" John hated to admit it, but that had him stumped. The past few days had opened John's eyes to a fair few realities that he was not altogether pleased with.

"What did the Doc say?" asked Sam, his voice sounding less muffled.

"He said that everybody around here is sick of looking at you, so they're probably going to send you home tomorrow," said Dean, grinning and plopping down into his usual chair. Sam glared good-naturedly at his brother.

"I really get to go home tomorrow?"

"Hopefully, it's not a definite yet." John internally winced out how much of a mood killer he was.

"I'm looking forward to showering!" said Dean, stretching his legs, "And Sam, I'm really looking forward to you brushing your teeth!" Sam shot another glare Dean's way, but this one contained no more real anger than the first one. John was shocked to realize that his boys really were just happy that Sam was alive, no matter how stressful and scary the last few days had been.

Once again, John was forcefully reminded of his previous life, where he'd been able to handle anything just as long as he had Mary and Dean. He swallowed painfully as he remembered Mary. Fourteen years, and the pain of losing her still seared as though it had been yesterday. John looked as his boys again, the scene almost tranquil. He had already lost his wife, and he'd be damned if he didn't do every single thing in his power to stop his babies from suffering the same fate. And if they hated him for that…well, at least they'd be alive, thought John grimly.

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Dean should have been ecstatically happy; Sam was recovering well that the doctors did in fact release him the next day, Dad, although he hadn't apologized for anything, was in a good mood and therefore not picking a fight. But when Dean saw the state of his car he almost cried. The entire front of his beautiful Impala was crumpled and spattered with blood, amongst other things. Dean patted the roof mournfully.

"I'm so sorry, Baby." Sam bit back a laugh; his big brother's expression was a borderline pout.

"If you're finished Dean, maybe we should take it to Bobby's?" Sam offered. John and Dean both stiffened at the mention of Bobby. John because he'd said such awful things to Bobby and was still unwilling to take them back, and Dean because he felt bad asking Bobby for a favour when he'd put up with so much already. In the end, John caved and let Dean take his truck and tow the Impala to Bobby's. John knew his friend well enough to know that Bobby had meant every word of his threat. He also knew that letting his boys spend a little more time together would probably be a good idea.

The drive to Bobby's was entertaining; Dean let Sam pick the cassette and they blasted it as loud as they could and sang along as they sped down the road. After a while, a nagging thought occurred to him. He wordlessly reached over and turned the radio down. Sam looked at him quizzically.

"What's up?"

"Sammy," asked Dean slowly "when you were unconscious, did Dad say anything to you?" Sam turned away from the window to face his brother.

_Dean, he'd do anything for you. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up dying trying to protect you. But you can't let it come to that, ok?_

"Nope," said Sam, turning back to the window "he didn't say a thing."

_Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up dying trying to protect you._

END


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